


Love They Say

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: "Of course you got the chickenpox, you're a giant child."
Relationships: Kelley O'Hara/Hope Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Love They Say

It’s not that she likes when Kelley isn’t well, but there’s something about it, the way the younger woman clings to her in her sleep, how soft she is, willing to just lay against Hope in their bed and watch terrible television shows while Hope reads. And it’s that that Hope loves, the closeness. The knowledge that she is doing something to soothe away the aches and chills.

That she is what Kelley needs.

Right now, she’s asleep, burning up with a fever she can’t quite shake yet despite Hope’s vigilant dosing out of medicine, but earlier, during the worst of it, she’d been caught up in violent chills. Shaking and shivering, unable to get warm, to get comfortable.

Sleep, at least, is healing.

And, Hope thinks, maybe love is too.

—–

“I think I caught something on the plane,” Kelley complained as she flopped down on the bed, fresh out of the shower and hair pulled back into a wet braid. She’s wearing a pair of button-down flannel pajamas with little cups of steaming coffee all over the fabric, and despite the furrow of her brow and the whine in her voice, she’s the cutest she’s ever been.

“You do look tired,” Hope agrees, and puts down the magazine she had been reading, “but maybe it’s just the year catching up to you.”

“Maybe,” the younger woman answers, rolling on her side to look up at Hope, to toy with the hem of her t-shirt. “I know I promised to rock your world when I got in, but I’m exhausted, babe.”

But Hope just smiles, and scoots further down into their bed, until her head is on the pillow next to Kelley’s and she can look at her, the woman she’s realizing she can’t live without, and take her in.

“Sleep,” she says, and touches Kelley’s cheek, brushes over the freckles there, “I’m not going anywhere.”

—–

In the morning, Kelley sleeps in, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and it’s obvious that she truly has picked up a bug. She spends the day in bed, achy and dozing while Hope heads off to the gym to train. Off-season or not, she has work to do.

When Hope gets back, just after noon, the bed is empty.

She finds Kelley in the bathroom, crying softly where she’s sitting on the floor, leaning up against the cool tile wall of the shower.

“Oh, honey,” Hope whispers when Kelley leans forward, obviously not for the first time, and Hope gathers the soft, sweaty hair back from her her partner’s face, and rubs Kelley’s back as she coughs and heaves.

After, when it seems there’s nothing left for Kelley’s body to reject, Hope sits back, letting the smaller woman fall back against her.

“I’m sorry,” Kelley whispers as Hope combs long fingers through her hair, runs her back gently. But Hope shushes her softly.

“Come on,” she whispers, hugging her carefully, “you’ll feel better if you get cleaned up.”

And she helps Kelley pull off the sweaty, damp shirt before rising to start the shower.

“You joining me,” she asks, and Hope shakes her head with a smile.

“Not that kind of shower, Kel,” the taller woman answers with a smile, and takes Kelley’s pajamas with her to put in the laundry with the sheets she’ll strip from the bed in a minute.

“Was it buggy still down in Georgia?” Hope asks, watching as Kelley steps into the shower, as she steps under the water.

“Hmmm?”

“Mosquito bites,” Hope points out, “you’ve got a few on your back.”

But Kelley just shrugs them off. “We did spend a lot of time in the grass,” she offers, and Hope nods.

“I’ll bring some lotion in, some soup and Sprite,” Hope calls over the sound of the shower, and sees Kelley wave in appreciation through the textured glass.

“You going to scratch my itch?” she asks, and Hope laughs all the way into the bedroom.

—–

In the morning, the bites have spread into a rash that’s quickly making its way up Kelley’s back, around and onto her chest.

“You’re calling a doctor today,” Hope says as she takes Kelley’s temperature, frowning at the result. “Whatever you picked up, it’s kicking your ass, baby.”

And Kelley moans, a shiver making its way through her body, her sore joints protesting as she reaches for the juice Hope had brought her.

“But it’s such a cute ass,” Kelley complains, then nods, agreeing. “I don’t think they’re mosquito bites either,” she adds.

“I’d say bed bugs,” Hope offers, “except I don’t have any bites and I’d have to kill you for bringing them into my bed.” And the look she gives the younger woman is entirely serious, but for the glint of amusement, almost edged out by concern, in her eyes.

—–

“Chickenpox?” Hope exclaims in the exam room, “You’re a thirty-year-old woman with chickenpox?”

And Kelley nods her head, “I swear I’ve had it before, but I texted my mom just now and she says no. Erin and Jerry did, but I guess I didn’t catch it.”

Hope looks at her, incredulous. “How is that even possible?” she asks rhetorically, but then laughs.

“Oh, my god, this is perfect. Of course you got the chickenpox, you’re a giant child.”

And Kelley groans at her but rests her head against Hope’s chest as they wait for the doctor to come back in.

“As far as childhood diseases, it could be worse,” the younger woman points out, “I mean, it could be lice.”

And when the doctor comes in, she finds them laughing.

—–

“If you don’t stop itching, I’m going to duct-tape mittens to your hands,” Hope threatens a few days later, when the virus has worked its way through Kelley’s system and she’s feeling more energetic.

The fever has disappeared, the nausea is gone, the lethargy replaced by restlessness, and all that remains to signify that Kelley isn’t well are the spots, red and angry looking. Most scabbed over, some still weeping. Every last one of them driving Kelley insane.

“I’m just so bored,” she complains, “and everything itches. And that lotion the doctor gave me is useless.”

Hope struggles not to laugh. “I know, baby,” she says, and pulls her partner toward the bathroom. “But let’s try that oatmeal bath thing again. It helped yesterday.”

“You know,” Kelley says, grimacing, “I’m never going to be able to eat oatmeal again. I’m banishing it from the house. Forever. This is a no oatmeal house.”

This time, Hope does laugh, and kisses Kelley’s hair.

“You know, that sounds awfully permanent,” she teases, starting the water in the tub, “you planning on sticking around for awhile after your quarantine ends? Keep an eye on my pantry?”

Itchy, cranky, and desperately in need of fresh air, Kelley rolls her eyes.

“If I stick around, Solo, it sure as shit won’t be for your pantry,” she says, and climbs in.

**Author's Note:**

> "Love They Say," Tegan and Sara


End file.
